The collision of your kiss - Frerard

2. Some kind of homophobic cult

He opened his eyes, groggily, breathing in the unfamiliar woody scent around him; where was the stale alcohol, where were the awkward stains on the sheets. He didn't even have a headache so for the first time in a fucking while his head wasn't pounding as he woke up: Unfortunately that meant he hadn't forgotten the events of last night. He was, to put it plainly, well and truly fucked, and not in the way he wanted; he couldn't go home, he didn't have a job, he didn't have anything other than some shitty band t-shirts and a half empty zip lock bag of weed. As a rule, Frank hated being successful in real life stuff, but he hated being homeless and friendless so much more. He groaned as he remembered his conversation with Pete, oh fuck and Mitch, if there was my doubt about him being fucked that was gone completely. Pete was the only thing Frank had that in any way resembled friendship so that was pretty fucking important, his angst had managed to bring him to the middle of nowhere with no hope of going home. One thing was for sure, Frank hated himself, Frank really fucking hated himself.

He groaned as he rolled over, checking the time on his phone:

12 missed calls Mum

"Fuck off" he muttered, rolling over, clenching his eyes closed, his mind just couldn't calm down, he needed a walk, he needed a fucking drink. He slid his jean clad legs over the edge of the bed; no way he could be bothered to change, no one here even knew who he was, why should they give a fuck. The light blinded him as he stumbled around, staring at the crappy room he was in, it seemed as if it hadn't changed for years, more like decades; the rustic look didn't suit him, blue moth-eaten curtains fluttered in the wind coming from the creaking window, light streaming into the room. He tried to block all of the thoughts threatening to flood his brain, reaching around in his pockets he found a crumpled banknote, it was probably enough for him to get some drink or something, he would rather risk death and severe alcoholism that be forced to constantly remember.

The hall was empty as he walked out of the door, there was no doubt that he was the only guest in this shithole. The woman from last night scowled at him as he barged down the stairs and past carefully placed tables, "I'll fucking pay you later or something" he muttered, waving a hand at her before slamming the door loudly in her scowling face. He could only imagine she was moaning to herself about 'the youth of today' or something, old bitch. But Frank didn't care about that right now, all he needed was a drink and preferably some cute guy to wash it down with, he wasn't planning on waking up being able to remember the events of today, he wasn't planning on remembering ever again.

Sadly, he doubted that there was anything here for him, or anywhere, he couldn't risk going anywhere else without running out of money, so for now, he was stuck. And he knew for sure that he was stuck without the fuck buddy with a perky ass that he so desired.

He made his way down a few streets with no sense of purpose, now it was light he could properly see the small town surrounding him, all of the houses had the same look, as if they hadn't been changed in at least a hundred years; he was surprised the people weren't hundreds of years old as well.

Frank, now free from any form of drug, was forced to turn to his least favorite past time (whilst sober anyway) to amuse himself, thinking.  He knew deep down that it was about time for him to get his head out of his gaping ass, but that didn't stop him from trying to tell himself it was fine. A devil may care attitude had got him through life so far right? The unfortunate truth of it was that the devil really gave a fuck about Frank in this situation. "Fucking hell" he muttered to himself as he felt a solitary tear slide down his cheek, he'd lost the love of his parents and now couldn't even substitute love for dick, he was probably the worst person alive right now. But Frank Iero didn't cry, he didn't care, he didn't need anyone and he never fucking cried. He tried to stuff the feelings of fear right down inside himself and put on his angsty teenager face, ready to drown it all in a toxic substance again; that's what he was best at after all.